


A Million Points of Light

by PrincessOfHell



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-26 09:44:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2647334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessOfHell/pseuds/PrincessOfHell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started when that one imaginary friend didn't go away at the age of 8, or at the age of 10, or 12. Or in this case, the imaginary existence of a dead brother.<br/>This is a story of Dean Winchester, where Mary and Sam died in the fire. This is the story of a little boy who lost his sanity trying to keep his little brother alive. <br/>This is the story of the man who saved the world without even knowing he did so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Schizophrenic Dean

Prologue

It all started when that one imaginary friend didn't go away at the age of 8, or at the age of 10, or 12. Or in this case, the imaginary existence of a dead brother. At first, he chalked it up to loneliness, trauma of seeing their life burn down, taking his mother and little brother with it.

It started with silence, oh the silence. He didn't speak for almost 6 months other than the basic words needed for survival. Then it was followed by playing with the air, or what he called his little brother, Sam. He thought it was just Dean missing his little brother, who wouldn't if they were in his position? It was heartbreaking, bringing back memories of his lost son and wife. But he had to go on; he had Dean to live for. 

But then he started getting involved with saving people, hunting things, exposing the little boy to more things that he wasn't supposed to see, much less be a part of. He started going on longer hunts, leaving the kid alone with trusted acquaintances or sometimes, on his own. But he made sure that the hunts didn't take longer than a week, he wouldn't be the absent father, his son needed him. 

This time, he chalked up the existence of an imaginary Sammy to loneliness; God knows the kid was lonely. And didn't all kids his age have imaginary friends?   
As time went on, all it did was grow strange. He would always talk about Sam, talk to a non-existent Sam, take care of him, and be willing to die for someone who didn't exist anymore. And it tore him up inside, how could he tell him, ‘Dean, your little brother died along with your mother on 2nd November, 1983’? Didn't the fire, the demon take away enough from them? How could he, being his father, take away another thing that his son was clinging on to, which he considered was perfectly normal for kids his age? So, he left it the way it was, Dean’s Sam would eventually go away… eventually…

But he never did, he grew up with him, went to school with him, took care of his Sammy, protected his little brother. For years it happened and even though a voice in the back of his head screamed at him that it wasn't normal, he paid it no attention. In their case, behavior like this was justified, they had a right to have dysfunctional realities, besides, he firmly believed it would all go away. 

Until one day, it didn't. That fateful day that changed their lives. It started out normal, a 12 year old Dean going to school with his Sammy in the morning while he stayed back to research for the next hunt.  
He wasn't there when Dean came back from school, frantic that demons were after them, after Sam, he was at the library.  
He wasn't there when his son shot holes though the walls of their motel room, trying to protect his little brother from the demons who weren’t there, he wasn’t there when his son splayed salt all over the room like a mad man, he wasn't there when his son slashed up his veins, drawing protective sigils in his blood to protect his little brother, he just wasn’t there.   
What he found when he returned was splashes of blood all around the room and an unconscious son who looked like he was trying to protect something, someone…  
That’s when he knew that that voice at the back of his head? It was right all along…

TBC…


	2. Seeing is Believing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the incredibly short chapter, need to get my facts in order for the next one.

Chapter-1 

He'd woken up a while later, disoriented, wondering why he was in a hospital with his hands restrained and asking if Sammy was alright. He cried out for his father to answer him, was his little brother okay? Where was he?! Then he'd looked towards the window and smiled as bright as the Sun, one word on his lips, 'Sammy'. 

The tears in his eyes welled over and trickled down his face as he saw his son try to hug the air through his restraints and whisper words of comfort to his Sammy.  
"Dean" he called out, standing by his bedside, watching as his son spoke to a non existent Sam while trying to loosen his restraints.  
"Dean' he said, louder this time around, grabbing his son's attention.  
"There's no one there"  
"What're you talking about? Sam is sitting right beside me, what is wrong with you?" Dean hissed, nodding his head in the direction where Sam was supposedly sitting.  
"Stop it, Dean! That's enough! Sam died eight years ago! Now, stop it!" he said, wiping angrily at the tears that trickled down his cheeks.  
"How can you say that? Sam's your son! What is wrong with you? He's sitting right here" Dean said, trying to pull Sam's hands closer through his restraints.  
"No, Dean, remember the fire where your mom died? Sammy died with her, son, we couldn't save him, whatever you're seeing, it's not real."  
Dean looked at his Sam then, a confused, calculating look on his face. For a moment, just for one crazy moment John thought Dean was going to believe him. Until...  
"Dad doesn't mean it, Sam, he's just exhausted and delusional."

What do you do when your beliefs are written in stone, indestructible, permanent, immovable?  
How do you question a sanity you never knew? How do you hold onto the pieces of your broken life as they crumble like dust from in between your fingers?  
Hope, was that even something they could count on at this point? Or was it too, just an illusion, waiting to consume their heart and soul and let them down when they thought they were getting somewhere?  
The Winchesters? They were about to find out...


	3. Say Your Prayers, Sing Your Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is as cheeeesy as my uncle, Crowley!  
> Going to introduce a plot twist in the next chapter.

Dean was at the institution for eleven months when it happened again. How he got hold of a sharp object to mess up his arms so bad, that it looked like a bear had mauled it, only he knows. He almost didn't make it this time around because of the blood loss. When the orderlies came the next morning, they found the rec room painted in blood, sigils and devil's traps adorning every inch of white space and a swaying Dean Winchester, barely conscious, mumbling 'It's gonna be okay, Sammy', painting more of them. What followed was chaos, orderlies running around, shouting commands, ringing the doctors, ringing his family, Dean's friends crying out, hoping that their friend and his little brother were alright.

Just moments after he was wheeled away to the trauma center, silence befell the whole asylum, deafening, filled with the prayers of the people that the story of this young boy and his imaginary little brother had touched.

A week later, an almost catatonic Dean was wheeled back into his room, drugged to the gills, a helpless, dead look in his eyes. He wasn't able to stop them and they'd taken Sam away, the demons.

His room was stripped bare, not even a poster left behind in the fear that he would try and hurt himself with anything he could get his hands on. His friends who lived with him in the asylum visited him, the ones who believed every word Dean said and accepted that Sam was as real as they were. And Dean, for his troubles, sat on his bed, a blank look on his face and stared at the white washed walls, a sense of defeat, emptiness and self loathing in him at having failed to protect his Sammy.

John and Bobby visited more frequently, trying to get that spark back in their boy. They watched his favorite movies with him, listened to his genre of music, did everything within their power to make him feel normal again, to make him feel that it was okay to let go of his little brother whom he held on to oh so dearly despite the fact that he died more than 8 years ago.

And their hard work payed off, within a month, Dean was almost back to the smug, hopeful kid that was hidden underneath all those layers of despair. Everyone was happy, the doctors, that he was on the road to recovery, no matter how rocky and tiring, his father, that his only living asset was getting better, Bobby, that his surrogate son would get to live a normal life very soon and the other boys and girls in the asylum, that their friend was no more as volatile as before.

But Dean never stopped telling his story, the story of his little brother, the story of the life they had together, the story of their amazing resilience, the dynamic duo. Sam and Dean Winchester, brothers in arms. And he never stopped believing, never stopped believing that there would come a day when he could prove to the world that the so called illusions he has, are just as real as anyone else. He never stopped believing that what you see, you do for a reason, what you believe is a means to an end, what you hold on to will never go away and the illusions that you see are just as beautiful and real as you and me.


End file.
